


Boys of Summer (Part IV)

by sanguisuga



Series: Boys of Summer [4]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But sometimes that's okay, Doubt, First Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Now Mature Love?, Recalled Memories, Rememberances, Reunions, Sherlock is a sneaky little shit, Snogging, Sudden Realisations, Teasing, Uncertainty, because they deserve it, good deeds, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: A continuation on Mycroft's recollection of the last summer before Uni, and of the boy that captured his heart. (Or - The One Where Mycroft Realises He Was An Idiot All Along...)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Mycroft waking up from his little trip down memory lane...
> 
> Kisses, all - please do comment if you are so inclined...

Mycroft took in a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking down at his empty glass.  _ Greg. _ That was it - that was the thing that had been hovering at the edges of his brain and making it all scatty. That first boy’s name, his true name, not just some silly moniker assigned to him by his well-meaning if dotty mother. He took in another breath as body and mind aligned, feeling himself sink a bit deeper into his desk chair. He reached for the decanter of scotch and allowed himself another finger. After only a moment’s hesitation, he added another.

He closed his eyes for a moment to savour the lingering ache, to recall the remainder of that early morning, how it had been quite impossible for him to sleep, as every time he had closed his eyes he had seen the boy’s face, his ridiculously good-looking face, cycling through cheekiness and desire and euphoria and finally - abject misery. Recalling how he had shuddered against him, soiling his skin, rubbing the stripes of come over his own belly and willingly marking himself had Mycroft squirming in the narrow bed, terribly conscious of Sherlock’s steady breathing from mere feet away.

With his entire body aflame with a need that would never again be fulfilled, the need to hold his summer love close, to share in that ecstasy once more, Mycroft had slipped from bed and sequestered himself in the small bathroom. He had wanked hard and fast in the darkness, feeling almost furious with himself even though he couldn’t pinpoint the reason why, stifling his sorrowful gasps by stuffing his pyjama top in his mouth, finally spilling into his cupped hand. After wiping himself down with some handy tissues and flushing them down the toilet to ensure that all evidence was destroyed, he had gone back to bed, finding it easier to sleep.

Of course he only managed a couple of hours, so his recollection of the drive back to the city was rather hazy with fatigue and melancholy, making it seem almost like a dream even at the time. Part of him had remained behind on that beach, his innocence, perhaps even his childhood. Mycroft remembered Sherlock being oddly solicitous on the way back, reaching across the seat and clasping his hand in silent support. Mummy had of course been considerably more vocal, declaring it one of the best holidays they had ever had and, “Oh, did you get that nice young man’s address or phone number?”

The silence that had followed Mycroft’s soft, “No, Mummy,” had filled him with a heavy sense of dread, but thankfully she had not pushed the issue any further. How could he explain that both of them knew that what they had that night was something special, never to be repeated again? If they exchanged information, if they had some form of halting communication over the months to come, that perfection would have eventually been marred by someone’s offhand remark, or an almost unbearable sense of longing. That Peter - Greg - would have grown tired of Mycroft’s supercilious attitude, that he would have abandoned him for another love interest who was more readily available to sate his physical needs.

Although Mycroft was quite definitely relieved at having resolved the odd feeling that had been lingering since the start of his day, he now had to contend with the emotions that his unintended trip down memory lane had dredged up for him. After all, Mycroft prided himself on his ability to overlook such things, to prevent them from interfering with the neat and orderly processes of his mind.

He obviously had not been as vigilant in his earlier days, as he hadn’t the experience to draw on to understand that such protection would be vital to his career, to his very person. No, that knowledge hadn’t come until after Mycroft’s second boy, the ‘relationship’ in Uni that he had blithely subjected himself to, simply because that particular dark-haired boy had stirred up only the vaguest echoes of the feelings that Peter - no, damn it,  _ Greg _ \- had instilled in him. But of course they had been false, and Mycroft had found himself being used for nothing but his name, for the important connections that he and his family had forged, and for the doors that opened themselves almost magically to anyone who could make a claim on him.

After that, it had been easy to barricade the path to his heart, any of the more heated emotions steadily growing colder as Mycroft dampened the fires within, his warmth being shuttered behind walls of ice. In a way, the accomplishment was far too easy for him, and Mycroft came to believe that all of his passions had already been expended in a flash fire of need and hunger, all on that one unbelievably perfect night. He had peaked too early - had used up all of his limited resources on that one boy.

He still had the occasional physical assignation, of course. With his heart properly guarded, he could allow himself to indulge in the basest of his impulses from time to time. In fact, it often seemed to help to sharpen his mind, and when faced with a particularly intractable problem, Mycroft would call up one of several resources available to aid him with the issue. The solution would usually present itself in the midst of his orgasm, and when the last of the shudders had wracked through his frame, he would abandon his temporary partner to put whatever plan he had come up with into motion.

This rather aloof behaviour generally did not cause any issues - his resources understood their purpose, and knew that Mycroft would be only too willing to return the favour once his work had been completed. He didn’t want there to be any ill will, especially as he knew that he might need their services again at a later date. There were only two who had insisted that they required no reciprocation, and they hadn’t lasted in the roster for very long. Above all, Mycroft detested feeling beholden to anyone, and while profitable in its own right, sex was a very tricky business to deal in.

But for the moment, it was a business that he would deal with himself, as his remembrances had left him with a bit of a nuisance that apparently required handling. Mycroft drained the last of his scotch and stood, subtly adjusting himself in his trousers before heading up the stairs to his bedroom. Yes, it would be an early night spent with his memories and recalled fantasies, and tomorrow he would be back behind his desk as usual, once again forswearing any of the finer emotions in favour of cold logic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, folks - meant to post this one Friday, but I ended up going home sick, and then yesterday was just blurgh. But today I am able to sit up and to type, so yay!
> 
> Please read, please do comment if you are so inclined.
> 
> Kisses!!

“Sherlock?” Mycroft frowned and tapped his umbrella on the floor at the sound of a gruff voice calling from halfway up the stairs. “Sherlock, this had better be good, I’m not even officially back on duty yet, for God’s sake!”

“Although I would also like to know why he called _me_ here to this dreary little flat, my irritation of a brother seems to be absent, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft half-turned as he heard footsteps at the door, stopping in a sort of frozen horror at the sight before him. Lestrade was clearly just back from holiday, casually dressed in jeans and a well-fitted t-shirt, his recently sun-kissed skin glowing even in the dim light of 221B’s sitting room. He tilted his head quizzically and looked at Mycroft from over his sunglasses, a slow smile creeping over his lips.

Mycroft dropped his umbrella as the realisation hit him, rather like a cricket bat to the back of the head. _“Greg!”_

Mycroft took a nervous step back as Lestrade moved forward, bending down to retrieve his umbrella for him. “Yeah, that _is_ my name. Glad one of you little buggers actually remembers it.” He absentmindedly tucked his folded sunglasses into the collar of his shirt as he held out the brolly, his eyes sweeping up Mycroft’s body before coming to rest on his face.

Those oh-so-dark eyes widened as Mycroft took yet another trembling step back. “No.”

“Ah.” Lestrade carefully propped the umbrella up against John’s armchair instead, keeping a respectful distance as he put his hands on his hips. “Finally put it together, eh? I thought that maybe I just hadn’t made all that great an impression all those years ago.” He grimaced in disbelief as his eyes darted over Mycroft’s slack face. “You had just tucked me away in that great big brain of yours, hadn’t you?”

Mycroft shook his head and shrugged helplessly all at once, the unfamiliar feelings surging through his body making the motion somewhat jerky and uncoordinated. With this strange reunion coming so quickly on the heels of his recollection just the night before, the newly erected wall in his head was dealt a vicious blow, and he was swiftly overwhelmed by his memories all over again as it crumbled to dust. He felt his body jerk awkwardly as Lestrade eyed him doubtfully, both of them clearly uncertain as to how to proceed.

Mycroft took another step, but as his body wasn’t clear about whether it wanted to go towards Lestrade or to run far far away, his feet got a bit tangled up in each other. Lestrade cursed quietly as he stepped forward and reached out to grasp Mycroft by the waist in a bid to keep him upright, his arm tightening around him protectively. He shuffled around as though to drop his burden in Sherlock’s armchair, but halted as there was another quiet, “No,” in his ear. Greg took in a shuddering breath before lifting his head and meeting cool grey eyes that had gone nearly black with startled desire.

“I didn’t forget you. How could I?” Mycroft raised a trembling hand and dared the slightest touch of Gregory’s skin, the most fleeting of caresses along his jaw. “I _kept_ you. Locked you up and didn’t allow myself to peek, so I couldn’t ruin what we had.”

Greg shook his head, clearing his voice against the faint quivering in his throat. “We had a week, Mycroft. One week, nearly three decades gone.” He grinned suddenly, his cheeks gone pink. “One week and one _very_ pleasant night.”

Mycroft ducked his head in an odd show of embarrassment, suddenly all too aware of how closely their bodies were pressed together. “What we had was perfect, Gregory.” He dared another caress, his fingertips trailing ever so lightly along the hem of Gregory’s shirtsleeve. Mycroft felt his face flush as the beautifully tanned skin erupted into gooseflesh. “ _You_ were perfect.”    

“Hardly.” Greg snorted even as he shivered with delight. “Stupid kid, all chin and elbows, no idea of what he was going to do with his life except maybe babysit stranger’s kids every summer with naught but the price of an ice cream in his pocket.”

“You grew into the chin, Gregory.” Mycroft gave it a little tweak as he spoke, his stomach flipping uneasily at Gregory’s crooked grin. “And I would say that you’ve done very well for yourself after all. M-may I ask how you finally decided on law enforcement as your career path?”

Greg laughed quietly, shifting his hold and playfully tugging at Mycroft’s tie. “That damn Freddy. Every time I caught him with his hand in someone else’s pocket, he’d holler at me that I ‘weren’t no damn copper’ and I’d never nick him for good. So I set out to prove him wrong, the little shit.” Greg winked roguishly. “Somerset is a bit out of my jurisdiction now, but I still like to head down and scare the pants off ‘im from time to time.”

“And is there anyone else of interest that you care to call on when you visit your hometown?” Mycroft frowned at his own icy voice, biting his lip as Gregory laughed at him, openly but not maliciously.

“Nah - dun’t even have family there these days. Hasn’t been anyone of a more personal nature since...” He waggled the ring finger of his left hand, only the barest hint of a mark where his wedding ring used to sit. “I - um. Well. May have gone back to reminisce a bit. About a certain summer, and a certain boy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft wobbled where he stood, and this time he let Gregory guide him into sitting in his brother’s armchair, his breath catching as he was followed down. Mycroft felt his face go all red all at once, just like it had nearly thirty years ago, as Gregory knelt down between his legs with a tiny grunt. He allowed him to reach up to loosen his tie just a bit, staring at him forlornly.

“Why me?” Mycroft’s voice was barely a whisper as he captured Gregory’s hands, looking at the stark contrast of his broad fingers against his own ghostly-white skin. “You were - are - so beautiful, and I was nothing but a pale ginger blob. Was I just an easy target for your adolescent urges?”

“What?” Greg sat back on his heels, pulling his hands free. “You honestly believe that I would behave that abominably?”

“No!” Mycroft shook his head firmly and then shrugged in consternation, his hands fluttering uselessly. “I mean... Not - you, not _this_ you, but maybe _that_ you. Boys, you know - urges and all that.”

Greg stuck his chin out obstinately. “I didn’t lie to you all those years ago - I _loved_ you, Mycroft. I may not have understood it, but I was drawn to you from the first moment I saw you. Even when you were just sitting there reading one of those damn books, I could tell that you had plans. That you had a _purpose_ , that you were going to be someone. Someone that I could admire, and learn from. I loved the look of your creamy skin - knew it was going to be so soft when you let me touch you, and you absolutely glowed in the moonlight. You made me laugh. You made me happy, just by being you.”

Greg reached up to wipe away a bit of the moisture that was threatening to fall from Mycroft’s eye, not at all surprised when he eagerly cradled his palm to his cheek. “I loved you, too - even though I was too frightened by it to admit it to you. For _years_ , Gregory. Nobody could ever compare to you, not after that night.” Mycroft blinked slowly as a broad thumb traced over his cheekbone. “I think that’s why I finally stored you away in my memory. That boy - you - were just too damn distracting.” Greg laughed softly, even as grey eyes once again went stormy. “So many years... Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Like I said - thought you din’t remember me - or else you did remember, and just thought I wasn’t worth the bother. You’re important, and I’m just a copper, y’know? Besides, the first time we met here in London, you din’t exactly have eyes for anyone besides your brother, did you?”

Mycroft shuddered as he flashed on the memory of Sherlock in hospital, gaunt and white as death, except for the vibrant bruises scattered over his torso where he had been hit and kicked by his attackers. Even now, he had only the vaguest recollection of there being anybody else in the room, not even the medical staff. “No, you’re quite right - on that score at least. But I won’t tolerate you saying that you’re ‘just’ anything. You’ve been of invaluable help to both my brother and me for so long.” Mycroft’s voice turned wistful. “So many years gone...”

Greg leant forward slightly, shifting his hand and running his thumb over Mycroft’s lips. “Maybe... Maybe we’ll just have to make up for lost time, yeah?” Mycroft nodded mutely, his lips parting slightly. His heartbeat picked up as Gregory’s tongue darted out briefly to wet his lips, his dark eyes flashing even darker. And then, just as he had all those years ago, he moved just a bit closer before hesitating, need battling the uncertainty in his voice as he asked, “May I?”

_“Oh God.”_ Mycroft immediately pulled Greg up into him, pressing their lips together with a fierce intensity. They both made indiscriminate noises deep in their chests, Mycroft resonating with desperation, and Greg with laughter. When they finally pulled away for air, flushed and grinning like fools, they could only knock their foreheads together in an attempt to take in the moment without becoming overwhelmed. Mycroft’s fingers trembled as they traced over the muscles in Greg’s back, and he responded by crowding in impossibly closer, tilting his head meaningfully.

“Yes, well, I think that’s quite enough of that, thank you very much.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please do comment if you are so inclined...
> 
> :-)))

Greg scrambled to his feet, turning to face the untimely intruder into their pleasantly soppy little bubble. Mycroft tilted his head as he surveyed the sight before him, his heart skipping as he took in the protective stance that Gregory had assumed in front of him as well as the rather well-formed bottom that was planted very nearly right in his face. Oh no, not much had changed at all - and thank God for it, too.

Greg yelped and jumped as he was goosed unceremoniously, his cheeks blazing red as he scooted clear from grasping hands. He glanced back as he moved, his stomach flipping as Mycroft looked up at him, all twinkling eyes and an impish smile.

 _“Oh.”_ With barely a breath to prevent the possibility of over-thinking his actions, Greg reached out to grab both of Mycroft’s hands, pulling him upright and into a fervent embrace. “Oh, but _there_ you are, my fine lad.” Both men ignored the random noises of disgust emanating from the direction of the kitchen, losing themselves in re-discovering the wonders of a healthily vigorous snog.

“Enough, enough, ENOUGH!” Sherlock stamped his feet and waved his arms over his head as though attempting to ward off a persistent insect, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He cleared his throat as the would-be lovers paused in their debauchery and glowered at him as one. “This is all very,” he gagged slightly, “romantic and terribly - _urk_ \- sweet, but I must insist that you go - elsewhere - to reacquaint yourselves properly.” Sherlock pulled himself up and glared down his nose as two sets of unfairly sharp eyes roamed over his face. “Some of us actually have work to do, you see.”

Greg huffed out a quiet bark of laughter, his fingers tightening where they had come to rest on Mycroft’s waist underneath his jacket. “Little bugger set us up.”

Mycroft nodded his agreement, casually slipping the tips of his fingers up the back of Gregory’s t-shirt and making contact with unfairly warm skin. He grinned as there was a gentle shiver in the solid body pressed up against his, and he traced lightly along the waistband of his paramour’s jeans. “I do believe you are correct, Detective Inspector.” He turned to his little brother, immensely amused as he squirmed under their combined scrutiny. “But how did you know that I had recently revisited my memory of that summer, brother mine? Without that prelude, this little drama of yours would have fallen quite flat.”

“I engineered the situation, of course. Not just this opportune meeting, as you are quite correct, Mycroft. Due to your constipated memory and Lestrade’s self-doubt combined with his appalling sense of decency, you two simply would have sat here and stared at each other for goodness only knows how long.” Sherlock smiled smugly. “I’ve been dropping hints for over a fortnight now, small trigger words that would have put you in mind of sand and sun and the ocean.” He blushed faintly as he gestured to a back corner of the sitting room. Both men turned and gaped at the battered wooden sword propped up against the wall, a misshapen pirate hat leaning against it innocuously. “Of the summer when you bought me those ridiculous props.”

Mycroft blinked at the well-worn toys for a long moment, turning calculating eyes on his little brother. “I hadn’t noticed - at least not consciously.”

“Which was the whole point, of course. When I felt that you were open to further suggestion, I hacked into your audio system and piped in a collection of the frivolous music that you were partial to in your youth. I was fairly certain that there was something in there that would act as the final trigger.” Sherlock tilted his head curiously as Mycroft laughed without humour. “Which was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“If you’ll answer a question of my own?” Sherlock held open his arms in a clear invitation. “How was it that you even recognised Gregory as that boy from so long ago? I don’t recall ever sharing his true name with you.”

Sherlock bit his lip as he wavered in place, and Greg spoke for him. “Sunshine.”

Sherlock nodded curtly. “Yes, that was it. Even though he carefully avoids his natural accent and his voice was altered by age and far too many cigarettes, I knew that I had heard it somewhere before.” He waved a hand in a false show of nonchalance, and Mycroft tutted quietly. “It was merely happenstance that he was one of the constables on duty that night, but I believe that he was the first to recognise me.”

“Well, those thugs _were_ calling you by name, Sunshine. Figured there weren’t too many Sherlocks running around, and then when you tried to act the cheeky little bugger before passing clean out at my feet - well, then I knew for sure.”

Sherlock smiled faintly and tilted his head at his brother. “At hospital, whenever you weren’t there - which wasn’t often - he was. He made sure that I was never alone, and he read to me.” He laughed, his eyes lighting up briefly. “Caesar. And then he called me by that stupid nickname, and I just knew.”

Greg nodded. “We both knew. But we never talked about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end to this particular portion of the story. I was going to leave it here because I rather like the sweet image at the end, but... Of course there has to be hot reunion sex. So there will be a Part V, but I'm not sure when I'll start posting as I've only just got it started. (Plus all my other projects - eesh!)
> 
> Anyway! Please do comment if you are so inclined!

Mycroft tilted his head. “Coincidence, brother mine?”

Sherlock gestured vaguely. “Yes, I know. The universe is rarely so lazy.” He fixed his brother with a meaningful stare. “But you must admit that it was quite fortuitous for me that Lestrade happened to be patrolling that particular neighbourhood on that particular evening - and now the situation has proven to be quite fortuitous for you as well.”

Mycroft cleared his throat with a side-long glance at Gregory. “Oh Peter... All those years gone, and you’re still looking after your Lost Boys.” He thrilled quietly as Gregory’s eyes dropped bashfully, his cheeks blooming with colour. “Very well, Sherlock. It was ‘Boys of Summer’ that finally unlocked my memory.”

Greg nudged him with his hip. “Good song.” He scrunched up his face slightly. “But din’t that come out a couple of years after our little fling?”

“I held onto your memory for _years_ , Gregory. The very first time I heard that song, I had no choice but to think of you, and those thoughts lingered for a very long time. At least until such a time that I decided it would be safer for me to tuck you away.”

“And you also decided to stop listening to pop music, apparently.” Sherlock hummed to himself, tapping his chin. “I can’t imagine it would have made such an impact if you had inured yourself to it.” He pulled out a small notebook and start jotting down some observations.

Greg nudged Mycroft again, until he turned to face him. “You know...” He boldly reached out to run his fingers along his torso, flicking idly at the buttons on his waistcoat as he moved down. “I may or may not have been practising a few songs from that somewhat questionable era on my guitar lately...”

Mycroft blanched pure white before his cheeks flooded absolutely beetroot-red. “Oh God.”

Greg chuckled into Mycroft’s mouth as he was fairly attacked, eagerly sliding his arms around his waist and simply rocking their bodies together. Mycroft moaned low, all sense of propriety absolutely lost as he relaxed into Gregory’s firm hold, thoroughly occupied with exploring the Detective Inspector’s mouth.

They both startled as there was a horrendous screeching close to their heads, abruptly pulling away from each other as Sherlock viciously sawed away at his violin a few more times. He waved the instrument and the bow at them frantically. “Away! Away with you before I become physically ill! The experiment is finished as far as I’m concerned - I need to write up my conclusions and I absolutely will not tolerate either of you desecrating my living space with any more... Spittle!” He threw himself down in his armchair melodramatically. “I’m already going to have nightmares, for God’s sake.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, reaching for Gregory’s hand and eagerly tugging him toward the door. “Come. My irritation of a brother is quite correct. We shouldn’t impose on his hospitality any further.” He tried to ignore the warmth in his cheeks as he swung his arm gently. “I do believe I’d like to hear your take on Don Henley, my dear. Or perhaps -” Mycroft bit his lip as his eyes glinted with lust. “Perhaps - _oh, yes_ \- Bowie.”

Greg stopped him briefly, squeezing his fingers as he grinned wickedly. “Absolutely. But maybe dinner first? I...” He dropped his eyes again. “I’d just like to talk for a bit, y’know? Get reacquainted proper-like, without the generous interference of your loving brother.”

“Oh, but Gregory - there’s so much lost time to make up for. So many things I’ve dreamt of doing with that boy - with you.”

Mycroft pulled a sad little moue, and Greg just had to shake his head, reaching out to trace gently over his cheek. “And we will, I promise you.”

Mycroft’s pout shifted into something saucy and vaguely calculating. “I must say that I’m no longer the fumbling novice, and I very much would like to repay a certain favour that was granted me many years ago...”

Greg shivered and laughed quietly as Mycroft tilted his head and attempted to capture his thumb in his teeth. “Oh hell - who’d’ve thought that _I_ would wind up being the responsible one?” He dropped a little wink at Sherlock over Mycroft’s shoulder, turning and pulling him toward the stairs.

Sherlock stared for a moment at the umbrella propped up against John’s armchair before standing and snatching it up at the sound of a small, “Oh,” from the hallway.

He held it out as Mycroft appeared in the doorway, his usual aloof posture easing into something loose and comfortable, his grey eyes dancing with joy. It left Sherlock battling an odd sense of nostalgia as he looked at the big brother that he remembered so fondly. Mycroft gently took his umbrella back and looked into his brother’s eyes, wide with sham innocence. “I would like to know why, little one. Why this, why now?”

Mycroft hummed vaguely as Sherlock’s gaze slid over to his flatmate’s armchair and back again. “Because you deserve it. You both do.”

“Ah. Sherlock, I...”

“You’re welcome, brother dearest.” He smirked and flapped his arms, waving away the miasma of embarrassing emotions that was surrounding them both. “You aren’t restricted by curfew this time, but I would still recommend that you make the most of your time together.” With a little push, Sherlock sent Mycroft on his way, standing at the landing and watching as the reacquainted couple stepped through the door of 221B and out onto the streets of London, their clasped hands still swinging together gently.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. Come follow me, and you'll get pretty boys and soft kitties on your dash!


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